Well, instead of a nice long walk on Tuesday, I got out of bed at 14h30 and decided I couldn't take it any longer. I had been sloth and fat and pizza belly for too long. Flew to the gym down the hill near the Opera. I'd toured it last year in hopes that they'd cut me a student deal (they're ageist in France so students are only up to age 27). No deal, not enough money, and really had no time to breathe last year let alone work-out. But this school year being different, more lazy, more time, I decided fuck it. I gave her my credit card, asked for the 3 months version with towel included, changed, and asked for a tour.
In Paris, the customer is almost never right. So, the guy giving me the tour was definitely not friendly or happy about it. What did I want to do, he asked. Well, cardio-- He cut me off, pointed to the machines in front of us, and said there it is. And, I wanted to do muscles (weights). Ohhh, so he started to take me upstairs to see the weight room. But, I didn't quite remember the layout so I asked for a full tour (damnit).
If you read the CDOA blog since its inception, you'll know how terrified I am by the gym. If you go to a gym, you might understand how humiliated I feel in there. If you're James (who trained me while we dated), then you'll laugh and kick up dirt, wishing you could have been there to see me suffer.
The cardio spinner machine was familiar, although in French, so it wasn't so traumatizing. But the muscles room. UGH. Some of the machines are near the cardio stuff so it wasn't such a hard transition. But I'd already envisioned what I wanted to do to ease myself into it, and all the arms machines were occupied. So, I had to open my voice in funny French and ask if I could work in with this dude. Completely embarrassing because, well you don't start back at the gym after a year+ off by kicking right into the weight you used to lift. So, instead, I'm all lifting just the plain ol' bar with no weight. Yeah, less than a baby weight, like, a no weight weight. Ugh.
Some dudes worked in with me on another machine, both grunting and spastically lifting way too much weight for their own good and doing it too fast, too. (James always coached me to work slowly, get the tiny little muscles deep inside. What was it you said, J? Something about you want to be able to pick up your frail grandma without dropping her, not just bale hay out in the field.) When I stepped up to work in, this one dude (not bad looking, but "cocky-maestro" written all over his face) pulled the pin out and put it into the 5lbs spot, and then winked at me. Ok, sure, it was a nice gesture, but it was also a "Here you go, lil' Missy" gesture. I wanted to sock him in his chiseled jaw. Instead, I subtly squinted my eyes and barely - but noticeably - raised my upper lip in disgust. Some day I'll grow up and be able to punch him in the belly.
After the arm torture, I went upstairs to a bit of chest humiliation. It's not my fault I have tits. Really. They came with the body. So, if you wouldn't mind to stop staring, that'd be just dandy. Did a few chest presses and free weight liftings in the surrounding air of the girl who ruined boys' club.
After, the usual sit-ups and stretches.
Despite the pain of nakedness in the changing room, glaring stares, dirty winks, and general feeling of crapiness, I came out of there flying on a kite. I'm quitting smoking and this is the best way possible. My heart rate on the cardio was too high for something so not challenging, and it took too long to rest. ... I almost kissed everyone I passed on the way home.
Colleague was supposed to come over for martinis and studying. She bailed so I stuck with the martinis. The Italian flew back from Roma and invited me over. While I have a good time with him, it's not entirely fulfilling, and he's got bad breath. I know, it's so petty, but dude, it's bad bad. I've taken to carrying a travel toothbrush with me when I go on over-nights, and have subtly been trying to encourage him to brush-a brush-a brush-a before we pass out and in the morning. He is good for the fact that he play ties me up in a way that is safe but also arousing. And, then he bangs the hell out of me. This time, he also gave me lovely Xmas presents. I'd asked for a rosary from Rome and I got a nice wooden one. He also got me a 2-cup Bialetti Moka Express to match my bigger pot. Very sweet.
The 31st I left my apartment late and realized I was was one of several thousand who were doing last minute NYE shopping. But I found a tie, bought 30E worth of fruit, bought the champagne, and whipped a wonderful fruit salad together with a yummy homemade dressing, got dressed as much as I could in drag for a 1920's-themed party, and got my butt out of the neighborhood.
Party was good. James called to say very nice things to me at midnight. Cheek-kisses all around. Smoked a cigar over the courtyard with 2 very handsome and very taken boys. Ate a ton. Drank whiskey from my flask. Took a lot of photos. Drank champagne. Got drunk. Made a boy 10 years my junior kiss me (so dirty). Realized that I'd not been kissing enough lately, because my mouth went on aggressive (the Italian is a big-mouthed, overpowering kisser) and I realized that the young man was on slow, smooth, sweet, supple kissing mode. I slowed down and sighed. Man, I've missed romantic kisses. He avoided me for the rest of the night, which was about 30 minutes anyway, as I passed out in the spare bedroom.
Jan 1st was swell. The hosts, another cool expat, and I went to a local cafe for coffee. Nibbled a bit on the leftovers. Cleaned. And, I took the metro home. I was definitely still intoxicated on booze, life, beauty, fun, good friends; and the metro ride between Jaures and Barbes, when it goes elevated-style, was so beautiful in its grey Paris haze. And all the people were beautiful. And everyone had a special inner shine coming out just for today. And I wanted everyone to have the best year of their lives.
I've basically done nothing for the past 3 days. I went back to the gym, and it, of course, gets easier. I've also been (over)working on 1 of the 5 papers due this month. And, then, peculiarly enough, I've been writing back and forth with this guy who lives in Lyon and has been reading my blog and Tumblr. Yes, it's a bit strange. I mean, it's only been writing, but you all know how powerful words can be. And, then, it's odd because he reads the blog and I haven't had this kind of intersection very often. Sure, W and Sarah read it and I see them in real life, but they also lead semi-public lives through their own blogs and they're also known freaks, like me. But anyway, it's been a very welcome distraction between this paper-writing bullshit.
Right. So. Joined a gym, made a new friend, talked to old friends, eating better, wore pants and a sock cock, and watched the beautiful winter sun shine rainbows around my room. Now all I need is a really great lay and the year will be off to a damn fine start.
Hope you have all had wonderful NYE and enjoying 2009!
Showing posts with label italian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label italian. Show all posts
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Friday, November 28, 2008
New photos and words
There are new photos over on Flickr, including the sets:
One-night stand via taxi
"Slut" by flimmaker
The Spaniard 1 and 2
Halloween night and the day after (featuring Tall Tom and a few drunk kids, as well as a few glimpses of school-girl Lola)
Spanking with the TV Producer
Italian playboy
It's Friday and I don't care that it's a weekend because week days have been weekends. I'm home, laundry is drying, and I'm catching up on relaxation, photos, writing, chilling.
I'm not sure if it's that I'm fiercely independent, or so content where I am right now, or that I just don't miss my immediate family, but I saw some photos of Thanksgiving and it looked like snore-bore and yawn and tension - and I didn't feel like I missed anything. I had a half-hour Skype with them before they had to cook the turkey and I ran off to have pasta al dente with the Italian. It made me cringe. My sister has such an expertise at retaining unhappiness and being passive-aggressive. My mother is clearly drowning in suburbia and has no idea how to help herself. My father looked perpetually bored and regretful. And this was just a half-hour, from across the pond, through a video stream. I do love them. I do. But I just can't stand to be with them very much. My dad and I get along the best because we have a knack to cut through bullshit and talk politics, real life, and can be honest with each other. But even he's a fucker - not so nice to my mom always (but they're going on 40 years anniversary so it can't be that bad). And, I'm certainly not perfect in the mix. I only wish I could know what they honestly thought.
I haven't seen the filmmaker in a month. He's out at a 1920's party tonight, to which I was invited and forwarded to him. I need to see him again, but in moderation. There was so much whiskey and crazy Lola.
The one-night-stand guy keeps SMSing me about when I want to hang out again. Ugh. Not with a dude that shows up at the door in his boxers and tee-shirt, with the TV blaring. Yucky.
The Spaniard sent me a short story about him emailing with a chick who wanted him and her boyfriend to fuck her. He ended up meeting the boyfriend, going to the same bathroom stall in a restaurant and jacking off together. He moved further across town so it's not as easy to see him.
Especially when the Italian lives 10 minutes walking distance from me. The only thing is that the Italian seems to be on a rampage. Free from his 3-year relationship (the last 2 years he cheated though), he says he's "experimenting" right now. I'm not sure where I fit into that experimentation, but he fucked a virgin midget. Yes. He told me the whole story after he said he was "experimenting." He fucked a teacher. He fucked a married Mexican woman, taking her ass virginity. It's strange to see myself in a mirror. Although, I know I'm a MUCH better kisser - after the first night I came away with chin rug burn from his stubble. I'm also more interested in finding a rotation of reliable lovers, whereas he just seems to be out to fuck all the women in Paris. He's had at least twice as many lovers as I have in the past month. It kind of makes me feel dirty, which makes me think about my own lifestyle. .... But then, he pulls out the olives, bread, homemade guacamole, wine, and makes pasta al dente. And in the morning he pours perfectly strong coffee, serves small chocolate croissants, and homemade tiramisu. This morning he had to leave super early for work and SMS'd me: "Buongiorno bella, whenever you wake up there is a tiramisù waiting for you. I made it for you, don't disappoint me... baci"
On Tuesday night, Tall Tom took me to dinner. A kir royale to start. I had escargot, he had funny mashed potatoes. Then, he had the veal and I had the salmon. We shared our desserts and had two bottles of wine. 80 Euro dinner. He's very sweet to me, which throws me for a loop. He calls me, tenderly, "silly Lola" and is treating me so nicely, almost like a girlfriend. I'm not sure how I like this. I like the secrecy part of it, as he attends my program, but just started this year so we don't have any classes together. But then, in the morning, he wants me to pet his head and body and wants to roll me over into his arms, resting my head on his chest. I told him it felt awkward.
Strange.
Strange things.
School is fine. It was quiet for the past 3 weeks, which was totally needed. Now, I'm seeing the finish lines for papers and need to get working. In my small group, we've finally figured out what our final project will be, which will involve a multi-national corporation, a European Union directive, an emerging economy in EU, and making an enterprise risk management toolkit to integrate into their plans for expanding their markets into this country. Should be fun! Some travel, some interviews, some work. Meanwhile, I'm also starting the job search. ... Know anyone hiring? I'm really good at ... um... well.. heh.. No, I won't do that. Silly!
Look for my expanded entry on my trip to Bahrain. My bag searched in a Muslim country, me working for Euros, the ex-pat party with gay Saudis, the flight over Iraq, the thousand men and one woman, the camels, etc...
One-night stand via taxi
"Slut" by flimmaker
The Spaniard 1 and 2
Halloween night and the day after (featuring Tall Tom and a few drunk kids, as well as a few glimpses of school-girl Lola)
Spanking with the TV Producer
Italian playboy
It's Friday and I don't care that it's a weekend because week days have been weekends. I'm home, laundry is drying, and I'm catching up on relaxation, photos, writing, chilling.
I'm not sure if it's that I'm fiercely independent, or so content where I am right now, or that I just don't miss my immediate family, but I saw some photos of Thanksgiving and it looked like snore-bore and yawn and tension - and I didn't feel like I missed anything. I had a half-hour Skype with them before they had to cook the turkey and I ran off to have pasta al dente with the Italian. It made me cringe. My sister has such an expertise at retaining unhappiness and being passive-aggressive. My mother is clearly drowning in suburbia and has no idea how to help herself. My father looked perpetually bored and regretful. And this was just a half-hour, from across the pond, through a video stream. I do love them. I do. But I just can't stand to be with them very much. My dad and I get along the best because we have a knack to cut through bullshit and talk politics, real life, and can be honest with each other. But even he's a fucker - not so nice to my mom always (but they're going on 40 years anniversary so it can't be that bad). And, I'm certainly not perfect in the mix. I only wish I could know what they honestly thought.
I haven't seen the filmmaker in a month. He's out at a 1920's party tonight, to which I was invited and forwarded to him. I need to see him again, but in moderation. There was so much whiskey and crazy Lola.
The one-night-stand guy keeps SMSing me about when I want to hang out again. Ugh. Not with a dude that shows up at the door in his boxers and tee-shirt, with the TV blaring. Yucky.
The Spaniard sent me a short story about him emailing with a chick who wanted him and her boyfriend to fuck her. He ended up meeting the boyfriend, going to the same bathroom stall in a restaurant and jacking off together. He moved further across town so it's not as easy to see him.
Especially when the Italian lives 10 minutes walking distance from me. The only thing is that the Italian seems to be on a rampage. Free from his 3-year relationship (the last 2 years he cheated though), he says he's "experimenting" right now. I'm not sure where I fit into that experimentation, but he fucked a virgin midget. Yes. He told me the whole story after he said he was "experimenting." He fucked a teacher. He fucked a married Mexican woman, taking her ass virginity. It's strange to see myself in a mirror. Although, I know I'm a MUCH better kisser - after the first night I came away with chin rug burn from his stubble. I'm also more interested in finding a rotation of reliable lovers, whereas he just seems to be out to fuck all the women in Paris. He's had at least twice as many lovers as I have in the past month. It kind of makes me feel dirty, which makes me think about my own lifestyle. .... But then, he pulls out the olives, bread, homemade guacamole, wine, and makes pasta al dente. And in the morning he pours perfectly strong coffee, serves small chocolate croissants, and homemade tiramisu. This morning he had to leave super early for work and SMS'd me: "Buongiorno bella, whenever you wake up there is a tiramisù waiting for you. I made it for you, don't disappoint me... baci"
On Tuesday night, Tall Tom took me to dinner. A kir royale to start. I had escargot, he had funny mashed potatoes. Then, he had the veal and I had the salmon. We shared our desserts and had two bottles of wine. 80 Euro dinner. He's very sweet to me, which throws me for a loop. He calls me, tenderly, "silly Lola" and is treating me so nicely, almost like a girlfriend. I'm not sure how I like this. I like the secrecy part of it, as he attends my program, but just started this year so we don't have any classes together. But then, in the morning, he wants me to pet his head and body and wants to roll me over into his arms, resting my head on his chest. I told him it felt awkward.
Strange.
Strange things.
School is fine. It was quiet for the past 3 weeks, which was totally needed. Now, I'm seeing the finish lines for papers and need to get working. In my small group, we've finally figured out what our final project will be, which will involve a multi-national corporation, a European Union directive, an emerging economy in EU, and making an enterprise risk management toolkit to integrate into their plans for expanding their markets into this country. Should be fun! Some travel, some interviews, some work. Meanwhile, I'm also starting the job search. ... Know anyone hiring? I'm really good at ... um... well.. heh.. No, I won't do that. Silly!
Look for my expanded entry on my trip to Bahrain. My bag searched in a Muslim country, me working for Euros, the ex-pat party with gay Saudis, the flight over Iraq, the thousand men and one woman, the camels, etc...
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